Panonian Shipwreck Survivors

Just like many other places in the former Soviet bloc, the Debrecin city in eastern Hungary is going though fast-track transformation. Freshly painted facades from which well known western firms´ names are flashing testify to this, along with nicely decorated shop windows and streets clogged with new imported cars which have replaced yesterday´s "Moskvic" and "Wartburg" car parks. Aside from all this, some fifteen kilometers outside of the city, high gray walls and a barbed-wire fence surround the former Soviet army base. Instead of Russians, the unfortunates from across the globe who tried to reach a better life in the West via Hungary now inhabit it: Afghanis, Nigerians, Filipinos, Vietnamese, Arabs and, of course, Yugoslavs. There are no guards - they´re free to come and go - however, judging by everything else, this place resembles an unkept jail most of all. Bathrooms are scarce, often without running water, they sleep in crowded rooms, on creaky army bunks, food comes out of cans, shops and a cantina are - non existent.

The majority of Yugoslavs - there are a couple of hundred of them  - arrived in Hungary during last year´s bombing campaign, via the so-called "green line", through the fields and forests. Only a few are "real" deserters - those who had thrown away their guns and left their units - most are draft dodgers. Having arrived in Hungary, they found that western countries don´t want to issue them visas, and that they don´t qualify for asylum.  From almost 5000 Yugoslav citizens who applied for asylum in Hungary last year, only thirty-seven were granted that status. The majority of the others have returned, those who could traveled further, and those who couldn´t have remained stranded in Debrecin - without papers, without jobs, without a future.

One of them is Dragan, a thirty-year-old optician from Sumadija, who crossed the Drina river last April. He first tried to apply for political asylum in Sarajevo, but found out on the spot that Bosnia and Herzegovina still hasn´t passed an asylum law. He boarded a plane for Zurich but upon landing the Swiss immediately deported him to Hungary with the first plane. "I later found out that I should have gotten into a fight with the Swiss cops", laments Dragan. "I would have been sentenced to nine months of jail for that." Following a remark that he would have been deported after that anyway, Dragan answers: "True, but I would have spent nine months in a place superior to this dump." Like many, Dragan has relatives in Germany, but the German embassy refused to issue him with a visa to visit them. "The letter of guarantee didn´t help either", says Dragan. "They didn´t let me in further than the door."

In theory, the cadets in Debrecin have the right to work in Hungary, under condition that the employee proves that no qualified Hungarians are able to perform that job. In practice, the language barrier and relatively high unemployment rate eliminate such a possibility. "What can I say, we have Hungarians from Vojvodina here too, and even they haven´t managed to find a job, and the government treats them just like the Serbs due to their Yugoslav passport", says Dragan. What do they live off of? "Nothing - I´ve lost twelve kilos since I´ve been here", he says. The guys have their ways  - they buy groceries and cigarettes in town and sell them to the others at slightly higher prices. "I can´t stand it here anymore. I´m waiting for summer and then I´m off", says Dragan. Where to? "Anywhere", he answers. "I´ll try to get into Germany." He isn´t even contemplating going home. "I come from a small town", he says. "Everyone knows me, someone would immediately turn me in."

Unlike Dragan, who doesn´t have any specific political beliefs, Milan from Belgrade ran away because he refused to take part in, as he says "Sloba´s war". "They were after me for Croatia, for Bosnia, for Kosovo, but I somehow always managed to evade them", he says. "I knew our people were doing horrible things there." Prior to the bombardment, he moved into his parent´s country house, but he couldn´t remain there for long. "The military police was coming all the time to look for me at my parent´s place. I ran away so that they would leave them in peace." He occasionally talks to his parents on the phone, but he doesn't dare tell them where he is. "My friend brought my college books from Belgrade, and I´ve been brushing up on my studies all day long", says Milan, who is a fifth year student of electrical engineering. "That´s of no use now, but it helps me pass the time."  He´ll go back he says "when Sloba leaves".

Zivojin is a "real" deserter, who ran over the Bulgarian border when his unit was supposed to be transferred to Kosovo. "I knew they could have killed me, both our and their border guards, but I didn´t care. I had a sweat suit underneath my uniform and, the minute I realized I was in Bulgaria, I took my uniform off and buried it in the forest." He had to dig it out afterwards, to prove to the Bulgarians that he truly was a deserter. "I came to Hungary because I thought that they, as a NATO member state, would receive me better." He now sees how wrong he was, but he isn´t sorry that he had deserted. "Even during the war I had heard from some who had returned from Kosovo about what was going on down there", says Zivojin. "I would rather die than take part in that." Jovan, a computer programer from Vojvodina, is possibly the most interesting case. He was avoiding the draft by staying in an apartment belonging to his friends, but crossed the border prior to the end of the war, the same day when Milosevic signed the agreement with Chernomyrdin and Ahtisaari. "Throughout the war I kept hoping that at the end something would change", he says. "When I realized that Sloba was about to sign, and that once again he would become the ´factor of peace and stability´, and would as such rule for god knows how many years more, I couldn´t take it anymore."

Jovan sold his shop and car together for five thousand DM to the first buyer and crossed the "green line". "I paid two thousand for the transport", he says. He had planned to go to Australia, but he was refused a visa.

Western countries, which had induced desertion during the war, obviously don´t want to have anything to do with the people who decided to take that up. "They´re totally forgotten people", says Brian Philips, from the Hungarian branch of the international human rights organization, Amnesty International. "We´re trying to help them, but no one wants to take them in." UNHCR says that immigration programs into western countries which existed before the war have been  suspended following a severance of diplomatic relations. "All we can do is provide them with humanitarian aid", states an employee. In the American embassy we are told that "there is no evidence that people who had avoided military obligation during the war are being systematically criminally persecuted in Serbia ", and that therefore "that cannot be a basis for an asylum".

In the Office for Immigration and Citizenship at the Hungarian Ministry of Internal Affairs, they say they are not able to do anything more than they are already doing. "According to our and international standards, avoiding military obligation is not a basis to seek asylum", explains Isthvan Dobo, deputy minister. "Asylum can only be granted to those who can prove that they have been persecuted on a racial, ethnic, religious or political basis. Unfortunately, only a very small number of Yugoslavs can really prove that." Slightly justifying himself, Dobo points out that Hungarian authorities are tolerating Yugoslav army runaways. "We grant them temporary residence permit status, and are hoping that they will go away somewhere." He agrees that this status, which is extended every year, doesn´t mean much. "No one promised those people that they would get anything if they came here." Still, does NATO have a certain moral obligation towards the people who refused to go to war against the Alliance? "Maybe", says doctor Dobo, "but that is a moral issue. Luckily", he continues, "my job is not to resolve moral issues but rather to uphold the law."

Vladimir Pavlovic, a twenty-three-year old who was active in the student protests prior to the war, is trying to organize the "forgotten ones" in Budapest in order to facilitate their battle for any kind of rights. We attended the inaugural meeting of the Migration refugee association: some thirty or so people gathered in a small, smoky apartment. The president, vice-president and secretary were chosen with acclamation. There is no treasurer, since the organization is totally broke. Pavlovic is aware that the possibilities for improving their status are bleak. "We thought that the West would accept us because we refused to take part in the war. We were naïve", he says. Upon our departure, he goes downstairs to check whether there´s a letter in his mailbox. "I have applied for a Canadian visa, I´m waiting for a reply", he explains. The mailbox is empty.